Class 2 Semifinal 1.

Mark of Aurelius against Ragnor of Virex.

The Aurelius sections gave Mark the home warmth they had been giving the Deadly Trio all day—the particular investment that had built across Mark’s win against Gorr and Sarah’s win against Nixare, the crowd watching the first member of the trio return to the floor for the semifinal stage. The Virex sections gave Ragnor their aggressive territorial response—the support base that had watched him build an iron landscape across his fight against Violin and were ready to see it again.

Mark walked out of the Aurelius tunnel.

His eyes were ordinary—dark irises, the silver not yet present, the quickness in his movement the only visible indicator of what he carried. He moved across the floor the way he had moved against Gorr—instinctive, fast, the speed a default rather than an effort.

Ragnor walked out of the Virex tunnel.

The faint metallic sheen was already visible on his forearms—the iron liquid present at the surface, the ability at idle but ready. He moved with the fluid density that had carried him through his fight against Violin, the iron floor technique already familiar to the crowd from that match.

The announcer reminded the crowd of both abilities—the Dead Eyes and the Iron Tide, both already demonstrated, the descriptions landing as confirmation.

In the stands the matchup carried an obvious tension. Ragnor’s iron transfer required contact—the same requirement that had defined his fight against Violin, the iron spreading from touch points outward. Mark’s Dead Eyes granted reflexes that read intent before execution—the same reflexes that had let him dodge Gorr’s Warcries before they fired.

If Mark could read Ragnor’s contact attempts the way he had read Gorr’s breath changes, the iron transfer would never land.

The referee raised a hand.

Mark’s irises shifted to dull silver—the activation immediate, the Dead Eyes online before the fight officially began.

Ragnor’s forearms deepened in sheen.

The referee’s hand dropped.

Ragnor advanced—not fast, the deliberate density of his movement unchanged from his previous fight, the iron liquid building at his hands as he closed distance.

Mark watched him come.

The silver eyes tracked everything—the angle of Ragnor’s approach, the positioning of his hands, the subtle shifts in his weight that preceded any contact attempt. Mark had used these reflexes against Gorr to read breath changes before Warcries fired. Against Ragnor the equivalent tell would be the moment before a hand reached for contact—the shift in shoulder, the extension of an arm.

Ragnor reached for Mark’s forearm.

Mark moved.

The silver eyes had read the shoulder shift a fraction of a second before the arm extended—Mark’s body sidestepping, the reach finding empty air where Mark had been standing.

Ragnor didn’t pursue immediately.

He pressed his foot to the stone instead—the iron liquid pouring from his boot into the floor, spreading outward in the thin layer that had defined his approach against Violin. Building coverage. The floor beneath Mark’s feet beginning to carry iron at its surface, invisible until contact triggered it.

Mark felt nothing yet—the iron floor still building, not yet beneath his current position.

He moved—the silver eyes reading the iron’s spread pattern, the reflexes processing the visible sheen on the stone as information, repositioning to stay ahead of the coverage.

Ragnor adjusted his pour direction—angling the iron toward Mark’s new position.

Mark moved again.

The exchange repeated—Ragnor extending iron coverage, Mark’s reflexes reading the spread and repositioning ahead of it, the floor beneath Mark’s feet remaining clean while the iron coverage expanded across the rest of the arena.

"He’s reading the iron the same way he read the breath," the announcer said. "The Dead Eyes are processing the spread pattern as information and repositioning before the coverage arrives."

Ragnor understood the problem.

The visible iron sheen was giving Mark information. If the iron wasn’t visible until it hardened—if the transfer happened before Mark’s reflexes could process a visible tell—the reading advantage disappeared.

He changed his approach.

Instead of pouring iron onto the floor in advance, he held the liquid at his skin—not deploying it, keeping it in its passive sheen state, the visible information minimal. He advanced toward Mark directly, the iron present but undeployed, nothing for the silver eyes to read except the approach itself.

Mark watched him come.

The silver eyes tracked the approach—reading Ragnor’s footwork, his weight distribution, the angle of his shoulders. Without the iron deployment as additional information, Mark was reading Ragnor the way he would read any fighter—body mechanics, intent, the precursors to a strike.

Ragnor reached striking range.

He threw a punch—right hand, no iron coating, a standard strike with nothing deployed.

Mark’s reflexes read the strike’s trajectory and moved—sidestepping, the punch passing where Mark had been.

In the same instant, Ragnor’s left hand—trailing, unseen by Mark’s attention which had been on the right hand’s trajectory—pressed against Mark’s shoulder as he sidestepped into it.

Contact.

The iron liquid transferred from Ragnor’s palm to Mark’s shoulder—the connection point hardening instantly, a small iron patch forming on Mark’s shoulder, dense and cold against his skin.

Mark felt it.

The silver eyes had read the right hand’s strike and moved correctly—but the left hand’s contact had arrived as a consequence of the correct evasion, the sidestep carrying Mark’s shoulder directly into the position Ragnor’s trailing hand occupied.

"First contact," the announcer said. "Ragnor used the punch as a feint—not to land, but to direct Mark’s evasion into the path of his other hand. The iron transferred on the shoulder."

The iron patch was small—a single contact point, the hardened metal sitting on Mark’s shoulder without yet spreading further.

Mark moved away—creating distance, the silver eyes reassessing, the small iron patch present but not yet restrictive.

Ragnor advanced again.

He threw a low kick this time—aimed at Mark’s leg, a different angle, the same feint principle.

Mark’s reflexes read it and moved—a backward step, the kick passing beneath where his leg had been.

Ragnor’s hand—following the kick’s motion, the same trailing-contact technique—reached for Mark’s ankle as the backward step carried his foot toward the position Ragnor’s hand occupied.

Mark’s reflexes caught it this time.

He read the trailing hand—not from the kick’s trajectory but from Ragnor’s overall body positioning, the silver eyes processing the full configuration of Ragnor’s stance rather than just the obvious strike. He adjusted his backward step’s angle, avoiding both the kick and the trailing hand.

"He adapted," the announcer said. "Reading the full stance now—not just the visible strike."

Ragnor reset.

He looked at Mark—at the small iron patch on his shoulder, the only contact the fight had produced. He needed more contact points. The patch alone wasn’t restrictive enough to matter.

He tried a different approach—a combination, multiple strikes in sequence, each one a potential feint, the trailing-contact technique embedded somewhere in the sequence in a way that Mark’s full-stance reading would need to track across multiple movements rather than a single exchange.

He drove forward with a three-strike combination—jab, cross, hook, the rhythm building.

Mark’s reflexes processed each strike—reading trajectories, reading the stance shifts between strikes, the silver eyes operating at the speed that let him track the combination’s full sequence rather than reacting to each strike individually.

He evaded the jab.

Evaded the cross.

The hook arrived—and Ragnor’s other hand, positioned during the combination’s buildup, made contact with Mark’s hip as the hook’s evasion carried him into its path.

Iron transferred to Mark’s hip.

A second contact point.